The Legends of Wellington Nephilim
by Pepperonian
Summary: Drusilla Blackthorn has been sent away, much to her enormous displeasure. A year's residency awaits her on the tiny, almost insignificant island nation of New Zealand. There, the Shadowhunters of the Wellington Institute take down drunk downworlders and stake out strip clubs to monitor the trade in faerie powders. But is there more brewing down under than Dru can imagine?


**AN/ Will be sporadically updated. I make no promises, sorry. That said, thank you for chancing on this. Having anyone read my writing is an honour. A few notes on spelling and formatting, and then I promise I'll get into it.**

 **-New Zealand English spelling is favoured (eg. Favoured, not favored)**

 **-A character's name in italics after a letter indicates that they have signed it. (eg. It's their signature.)**

 **This is a** ** _slight_** **AU for those that have read Lord of Shadows, and it ignores the future promise of Wicked Powers, but I've been gagging to write another New Zealand Shadowhunters thing for ages, since my last one I wrote when I was like twelve, and it's terrible. Notes on the country include:**

 **-The languages spoken are NZ English, NZ sign language and Maori in NZ. Mainly I write all the dialogue in English, but several characters a fluent in Spanish, and several in French. Only three characters speak fluent Maori. I do not speak anything but English and I have taken to using google translate, so I apologize for any linguistics errors.**

 **-The three main population hubs are Wellington, the capital, Auckland and Christchurch. The story centres mainly on Wellington.**

 **Additional notes:**

 **-One character from my other Shadowhunters fan-fiction has been recycled, just his name though.**

 **\- There will be multiple parts to this story, I think.**

 **-Whilst listed as Adventure/ Mystery, there is some romance in this, and elements of family etc.**

 **I hope you enjoy. :)**

* * *

 **PART ONE**

 **THE RESIDENT**

* * *

 **Attn. Drusilla Blackthorn**

 **Subj. Institute Residency**

Dear Miss Blackthorn,

You have been entered to the Clave's residency program by the head of your current institute. This is a method by which many Nephilim enter the final stages of their schooling. It is an exciting opportunity and we have endeavoured to place you in a location best suited to you.

Whilst you expressed an interest in exploring Latin American culture, the Clave feels that this might be too familiar. Your aptitude in Spanish was noted, and deemed not in need of development. As such the residency panel has selected a different assignment for you. You will find this included.

The Consul hopes you devote yourself to gaining the most from this assignment, and trusts the Residency Panel has chosen well for you.

Regards,

Theodora Hayward, Aid to the Consul

 **Attached: Official Assignment- Residency Pertinent to Drusilla Blackthorn**

The Residency Panel has unanimously agreed on the placement of

 _Drusilla Blackthorn_

In the institute of

 _Wellington, New Zealand_

The Wellington Institute was founded at the end of World War One. Following the 60% death rate of institute members following the Dark War, it is in a rebuilding phase. The Head of the Institute is Miss Octavia Bellefleur. Her second is Mrs Amabel Baywain.

The Wellington Institute allows for travel of the country of New Zealand with Nephilim outposts throughout the country. Expect contact from your new Institute head within the next week.

 **Approved 02/02/2017**

 _Jia Penhallow_

Jia Penhallow, Consul

* * *

Dear Tav,

Ty would love this- the plane that is. There are computers in the backs of all the seats and they play movies and show maps and all sorts. So far that's been the only highlight of having to fly the mundane way.

I still don't really understand why I had to fly from Australia, why portalling in wouldn't work. I'll ask the head of the institute what's up with that when I get there. I can't imagine why, the letter she sent me said something about Ley Lines. I have no idea what they are when they're not used for raising the dead (sorry, bad memories, I know.)

Really, I'm writing this to pass the time. There's nothing on this plane, nothing interesting, they're all mundanes. Most of them have funny accents too, like all of them have some sort of country twang. I'm sitting here by myself at the back of the plane, listening to them speak. (It's English, in case anyone back home is wondering. I know we found out that they speak two languages in New Zealand, but everyone here speaks English).

I find myself wondering, almost against my will, what it will be like. It seems like a pretty rubbish assignment for my residency, but I've already complained enough about that. I wonder if they'll let my swords through customs. I hope Magnus glamoured them well enough.

Will the people there be nice? The head of the institute sounds like a real old duffer, her second does as well. I can't even remember their names. Aww well, shows how enthused I am for the job, I suppose. Livvy was so lucky getting Canada for her residency, all I can think about is how far away you all are. Though, I suppose we were all scattered long before I left, right?

Speaking of, how is everyone? Have you heard from, you know who? I wonder if they're okay. I always wonder that… Happy thoughts, though, right?

The happiest question; is Helen pregnant yet?! But don't tell her I asked. I'm sure they're thinking of it though. I hope they are, wouldn't that be so cute? Little Helens running round the Institute. Maybe they'll adopt?

Funny, it won't be my institute anymore after today.

Give my best to everyone, Tav, to Ty and Livvy and Kit and Helen and Aline.

Love, Dru

 _Drusilla Blackthorn_

* * *

 ** _May 23, 2017_**

 ** _Mount Victoria, Wellington, New Zealand_**

Previous mountains in Drusilla Blackthorn's short life had not been suburban colonies of a city's wealthy. Mount Victoria was.

Looking outside the window of the cab, it was easy to see why.

Wellington was a harbour city, with little flat land arching protectively around the sheltered blue. Behind the gleaming arc of the city, growing from the flats, rose another arc, this of green hills. Drusilla was on one such high point, looking out over the ocean views, which were clearly what attracted the owners of the houses with perfectly manicured lawns to this area. Such houses were all around her. They were houses that were neat and orderly, as neat and orderly as they could be perched on the hills. Despite the salt wind that would clearly swipe across the houses every day, they were all freshly painted, creams and white- the outward neutrality of the powerful.

She kept looking out the window as the cab wound its way along the mountain roads, which were narrow and winding, compared to the roads back home, in LA. It was a good idea, her brother had once told her, to observe your surroundings if they were unknown to you.

Even if they are, Dru. Julian's voice resounded in her head, admonishing, his blue-green Blackthorn eyes serious. Jules had always been serious, he had raised her, he'd had to be.

That wasn't the only reason she had her forehead almost pressed against the glass. Roads she had previously been on had been straight and wide and flat. Wellington looked like the land had been flayed until the earth was a raised mess. Its roads were not flat, and the little green cab was not taking the curves as slowly as Dru would have liked. Looking out the window helped, even if sometimes she could see down the sheer sides of the mountain in some places, and the white-crested waves of the harbour were hard to ignore.

"Doing alright back there, girl?" The driver was friendly enough, and Dru was a bit more comfortable around him than most, given the marks of black climbing up her arms and around her neck. It was warm on the plane, and she hadn't put a jacket on over the t-shirt. The driver had winked at her though, "don't worry there, sweetheart," he'd said amiably, "I've done work for those guys at the Institute before."

Dru wondered if the cab driver had the sight. He'd just said that he was the guy they booked whenever they needed a lift. His cab was green. Dru, used more to yellow, had thought this a novel change, and gotten in the back seat.

She leaned back from the window, leaning against the headrest of her seat. Her stomach wasn't roiling now, at least not from motion sickness. Apprehension was closer to what she felt.

"What do you know about them?" She found herself asking the man driving. "The people at the Institute?"

The man huffed in a friendly manner, "not much, really, I thought maybe you'd have a better idea of it than me."

Dru was slightly stunned, "why?"

He took one hand off the wheel to scratch at a stubbly chin. "You've got the same tats as they do."

Tats. Tattoos.

So he didn't know much, maybe not even sighted at all.

She didn't speak for the rest of the journey, but she suspected they were nearly there anyway. It had felt like an age travelling here. Dru wasn't sure she was ready to stop.

They did anyway. And she turned to look out the other window, leaning across the back seat though the seat belt restrained her.

At first glance, it looked as most institutes did, and abandoned wreck, a shell of a house. Wooden boards were drooping off the frame of it. Bay windows on the second floor shattered with the sills hanging precariously down the front of the house. Dru could have listed everything wrong with what she first saw, if she'd wanted too, but that would have been useless. What people first saw was often incorrect.

She stripped the glamour away easily enough. It wasn't an abandoned house, not a house at all. It was a church. A church made of wood. The bay windows, yes, on the second floor, but they looked somewhat out of place under the proud spire rising above the roofline. Dru estimated four floors, at the least, not counting an attic or basement. Whilst it was impressive, Dru felt her heart tug forlornly. She had been hoping for something more like home. The Wellington Institute was something entirely different from the huge ceilings of the Los Angeles institute.

Her driver parked and got out of the car. Dru slowly undid her seatbelt, still staring upwards at the place, as if she expected the tower to keep growing out of the roof of the place.

Eventually, after the man had placed her bags kindly on the kerb, and Dru still had not moved, he came to knock on her door.

"You might want to get out,"

Dru stared blankly, then shook herself to, imagining Julian frowning at her again. "Sorry."

The man made a sound between a grunt and a chortle in the back of his throat.

"Thanks," Dru said, and closed the door behind her as she got out of the car, stepping onto the road.

She dared to give the man a smile before walking away. Dru wondered if she'd ever see him again. Picking up her bags, she didn't have time ponder it long. The gates of the Institute loomed in front of her.

Placing her hand on them, eyes darting over the wrought iron we are dust and shadows, Dru felt the Institute recognise her blood.

Welcome, daughter of the Nephilim, the iron sang through her palm, as they swung open for her.

The path towards the door was short. Dru walked it easily, bags (one large, one small) in tow. There were three steps to the front door.

She counted them in infinite time.

Her hand paused over the doorbell. What would happen if she went home, back to LA, demanded another residency, much closer to home. Would they allow that? No, Dru couldn't go home. The Clave. She couldn't risk crossing swords with them over something as small as a travel year, no matter how much she didn't want to be there.

As if pulled by the gravity of this knowledge, and something else, one extended finger depressed the doorbell.

If there were chimes inside, Dru didn't hear them. But someone clearly did.

The door swung open.

Very sharp grey eyes were on her the instant the door did not block her from view. Dru's gaze went up, the gently curling hairline, kissed with grey, and then down, a neutral frown.

The door-answerer raised her eye brow, and cleared her throat in a slightly irritated manner. She seemed like a grumpy hen.

Dru stuck out a hand, voyance sharp on the back of it. "Drusilla Blackthorn," she said, amazed her voice hadn't come out in a squeak.

The grey-eyed lady gave her a hard look, "haere mai, Drusilla," said the woman, in a language even Dru did not recognise. Dru spoke five languages fluently. The woman, a Shadowhunter, clearly marked with voyance on the hand she had extended to Dru. They shook hands. "I'm Octavia Bellefleur, head of the Institute."

Dru's immediate thought was that Bellefleur was a name that did not match with this woman. The second was one of recognition. Octavia Bellefleur, her assignment had read.

Octavia stepped aside, allowing Dru passage into the entry hall.

"I am afraid," said Octavia, as she closed the door tightly behind Dru, "that some of our number are on patrol, or otherwise occupied. Your meeting party is rather limited in size."

Dru could feel Octavia standing behind her, just off to her left, by her shoulder. Two other shadowhunters stood in the foyer, observing her lazily. A boy, younger than Dru, grinning in a manner that seemed easy and natural, and a girl, expression blank, the girl looked about Dru's age.

"May I introduce Jael Palastberg," said Octavia, as it was her duty to introduce Dru to her new peers, "and Dominic Bellefleur."

Dru couldn't help herself, "Bellefleur?"

"My son," Octavia sounded wryly amused, as if this were an odd fact of life."

Dominic was leaning against a staircase, and looked very unlike his mother. His hair was a kind of dirty, yellow blond, his grin slightly too wide for his face, a soundless rune drawn sloppily on his neck. He appeared to be his mother's antithesis.

"G'day," his voice was entirely native, a drawl with shortened vowels. He said 'day' as if the 'a' had been chopped in half.

"Hello," Dru said. He couldn't have been more than fourteen, but Dru's voice came out as a squeak. It always had in front of people who oozed self-confidence.

The girl, who had been introduced as Jael, Octavia had pronounced it "Yah- el," simply inclined her head slowly and deliberately. Her eyes were a startling blue, her face framed by ropes of mousy brown hair.

There was a pause, after Jael didn't fill the silence with a vocal greeting, and Octavia sighed.

"Dominic, to the training room. I'll meet you there." It seemed Octavia was not slowing down day-to-day life to deal with something as small as Dru's arrival as a resident of the Institute.

Dominic the fourteen-year-old strongly reminded Dru that he was young, tossing back hair and sloping away up the stairs that sloped down one side of the entry hall. Dru followed his progress up the stairs, noting that Jael didn't blink an eye and was continuing to evaluate her from the other side, where she was leaning against a wall.

Octavia's second order: "Jael, would you mind showing Drusilla a room."

The first words Dru heard out of Jael's mouth were not even directed at her.

"Any room in particular, Octavia?"

"You know the ways here, Jael," Octavia admonished, "you've been here long enough. She can have whichever she likes, as long no one else sleeps in it."

Jael arched a delicate eyebrow, "so she can have Angus's?"

To Dru's immense surprise, Octavia gave a puff of laughter.

"His room is the exception."

Dru thought she saw one end of Jael's mouth twitch upwards.

So you do smile and make jokes, she thought of Jael, just not with me.

She could imagine Emma in her head then, as close to a mother Dru might have ever gotten, at least in terms of advice, maybe not yet, Dru.

As Octavia bustled off, reminding Dru once more of a hen, calling over her shoulder that she would see what she could do about getting them all together for dinner, Jael arched an eyebrow at Dru herself.

"Coming, newbie?"

Her accent was faintly German, Dru wondered if she was here on residency too.

Picking up her bags, she trailed after the other girl, who was making her way up the stairs.

The weight of the bags had no effect on Dru's ability to climb the stairs. She was up them in a flash, climbing to catch up to Jael. The other girl was waiting for her on the third floor.

"What's on the second floor?" Dru asked, somewhat disgruntled with having both the ground and the second floors skipped.

"We can give you a proper tour later," Jael said, with what Dru was already working out was her own unique brand of wry blandness. "For now, bedrooms."

It was a final statement.

"The Institute can house around thirty-five Nephilim just on bed count." Jael was saying as she walked. "Currently, only eight are occupied."

It was a small institute then, Dru thought to herself. LA could take over fifty. She peered down the corridor. The doors were wooden, some closed, some open.

"You may have any with an open door," Jael said, clearly noting Dru's line of sight. "Unless it is obviously occupied, one of them may have not closed their door."

Dru didn't say a word, and Jael trailed behind her as she ambled through the corridors, trying to pick a door. She settled on one directly across from a friendly looking portrait.

The window did not face the peak of the mountain, but there was a glimpse of blue from around the corner of the house if she dared to lean out the window, and the green hills rising above the city were her main view. It meant, Jael explained, she had both nice views and a reasonable amount of daylight.

"This one, I think." She said, sure of something in this new place. There had been a closed door a few doors down, close, but not too far away. Privacy when she wanted, and company not too far away.

"Lonely down this end of the house," remarked Jael, though she didn't seem particularly judgemental about it.

Dru shrugged, "at least I've got the portrait."

"Yes," Jael said, "Harriet Hillworth, a noble Shadowhunter. She founded the Wellington Institute, you know."

Dru hadn't known, but she didn't really care.

"Precisely," she said, "I've got Harriet here to keep me company, and someone a few doors down, I'll be fine."

Jael looked like she wanted to say something, but shut her mouth anyway. Dru decided her fierce glare must have improved.

"I'll leave you to unpack then," Jael looked over her shoulder, "I've got some research to do."

Dru was somewhat taken aback. "What about dinner?" She didn't know where the inhabitants of this Institute ate, or when. At home, Julian had cooked for them when they were little. Making sure they had food on their plates, vegetables and all. He had called them into the kitchen to eat, she had never had to worry about getting herself to the formal dining room on time, or who was cooking.

Jael just smiled, "you'll know where to go, and when."

It was then it occurred to Dru that this Institute might have as many secrets and as much history as London, or her own home.

* * *

 _ **Later that day**_

 _ **The Wellington Institute, Wellington, New Zealand**_

The knocking at Dru's door was light, but insistent. Dru looked up from the desk she'd been writing at, sucking on the finger she had pricked. It was too small a wound to waste an iratze on, so she left it be. The sky outside had darkened, she noted, as she made her way to the door. It was seven at night, and the sky was a dark expanse above her. Even from her room, Dru could make out the heavy dusting of stars.

She wondered, as she was opening the door, who had come to get her. Jael had said that eight rooms were occupied. Which of the eight had come to get her?

No one, as it turned out. Dru opened the door onto empty air, and the tinkling of a bell floating around the corner.

"Hello?"

The door down the hall stayed firmly closed, but Jael came floating down the hallway.

"So you heard it."

Dru frowned, puzzled, "yes, but what exactly is it?"

Jael smiled like she had a secret, "the others can tell you their theories."

Dru had been the youngest daughter in a family of older, more capable children. She was used to finding out information no one wanted to give her. "What's your theory."

She fell into step beside Jael, and it occurred to her that they were following the soft music.

"I think," Jael reasoned, "that it's some form of magic specific to this Institute."

"Hmm," Dru encouraged, trying to get Jael to elaborate.

"Like, the London Institute has unknown protection capabilities, maybe there is something similar here."

Dru had to keep herself from smiling at that. After all, she had spent most of her mid-teens with a Herondale, and Herondales could talk to ghosts. When she was thirteen she had gone to London with a Herondale. She knew precisely what London's mystic force was, but she wasn't about to tell Jael that.

They followed without further dialogue, the silent feet their ancestry gave them betraying little sound on the wooden floors. They ran into Dominic on the stairs.

"'Sup Jael," the younger boy said. His hair was damp, but his face was scrubbed and slightly pink. He'd had a shower. Clearly, Jael didn't feel the need to respond, and she said nothing, breezing past him and on down the stairs. "Hey, newbie."

"You can call me Dru, Dominic," she said, firmly reminding herself that the boy was about fourteen. They followed Jael down the stairs, the bell sounds still present. "Does the bell noise ever end?"

Dominic scoffed, but it was Jael who responded from the bottom of the stairs, "only when everyone sits down for dinner, so hurry up."

Dinner, as Dru discovered when she walked through the double doors, was in the formal dining room. Octavia was sitting at the head of the table, papers arranged around her and a pen behind her ear. Another portrait of Harriet Hillworth was hung on the wall, secretly smiling in a portrait she was meant to look serious in. There were eight places set at the table, Octavia occupying the only one.

Pulling a face at Jael and Dru, Dominic went to sit to the left hand of his mother. No one else was present. The two girls walked around the long table to claim seats just down from Dominic. Octavia didn't so much as look up.

"We leave the right hand seat free when the Institute's second is away." Jael said, out of the blue, as they took their seats. "Amabel runs the day-to-day of the institute," she continued, a never ending font of knowledge, "that is, when she's here."

At that Octavia looked up, frowning. "Jael," she said, disapprovingly, "she has good reason to be away."

Dru was impressed. She had not heard of an Institute where all the senior Shadowhunters were female. Wellington was the first.

Jael didn't seem to mind the telling off. Octavia seemed now to realise that there were only three of her wards at the table, and that the bell was still ringing, indicating that everyone who was supposed to be here was not.

"Jael, should the others have been back by now?"

The girl next to Dru was opening her mouth to respond when the double doors crashed open, and Dru caught sight of two new figures.

"Two down," muttered Dominic at the same time Octavia said, "pense au diable."

Jael stayed quiet, though Dru thought she was smirking at the two latecomers. There was a boy and a girl, both young, similar in age to Dru and Jael.

"Thinking of us devils, Octavia?" It was the girl who spoke, a ringing strident voice.

The second person, the boy, strode into the dining hall just behind the girl. Both were in gear, with light-weather cloaks thrown over the top. The boy was smiling slightly, his damp dark hair glinting somewhat in the light cast by the fittings overhead. It must have been drizzling outside.

"Solo tu, Lydia" he said, and Dru's heart leaped in recognition. Only you, Lydia.

"¡tu hablas espanol!"Dru exclaimed, loudly, in Spanish. Living with Christina had meant speaking her language had become almost as instinctive as English. The boy had said only you, Lydia.

Lydia must have been the girl, who looked exactly how Dru had wished she'd looked once. Her hair was blond, the annoying kind that seemed something more than blond. She was slim and slight too, only reaching half way up the boy's chest, but she carried herself in a way that made her look taller. Maybe it was because she looked as if she thought every room she walked into was her birth right. Dru had met Shadowhunters like that before, Zara Dearborn had been one of them, and she had no wish to meet any more of them again.

Yet, she did not mind. She loved speaking Spanish, and was thrilled that the language wouldn't be wasted here.

The boy's eyes had been drawn to her now. They didn't snap to her like most Shadowhunters did, swift in evaluating potential threats, this boy moved his gaze around like he enjoyed taking everything in at his own pace. Including Dru.

"sí" said the boy, eyes now directly on her. "As do you?"

Once the switch to English might have thrown Dru, but not these days, "yes, I learnt many years ago." The boy with the dark hair smiled at her, and Dru had just decided that she liked his smile when Octavia saw fit to continue the introductions. She couldn't help but feel the slightest pang of disappointment when his gaze slid away from hers as he took the seat across from Jael.

The blond Lydia flung herself down across from Dru and began to wrestle her hair out of its ponytail, shaking the waving gold out until it fell, curling slightly from the damp, around her shoulders.

"Excellent table manners, Lydia" remarked Jael, receiving a glare from Octavia, who had shuffled her papers together into a pile when Lydia and the boy had come in, and now looked ready to make conversation.

Octavia's almost perfectly groomed eyebrows lifted to nearly touch her greying hairline.

"If I may introduce you miscreants to our newest Shadowhunter?"

Lydia spread her hands wide, "by all means," she said, leaning back in her chair.

"Lydia, Teo," Octavia said, glaring daggers at Lydia, "Drusilla Blackthorn, previously of the Los Angeles Institute."

Dru half-smiled at them, "hi there," she said, somewhat nervously.

"This blond-haired demon," said Octavia "is the devil incarnate, though most choose to call her Lydia Baywain."

"Haar-de-hah, Octavia" snorted Lydia Baywain.

The boy, Teo, Dru gathered, looked over at her and added for her benefit, "ella tiene razón."

Dru snorted then, with laughter, "nice to meet you, el diablo."

Lydia gave her an odd look then, one that Dru could not decipher. It seemed strange to her though, Lydia had seemed like the kind of person who was not afraid of jest, regardless of if it was directed at her or not.

Octavia moved on, "and this is Mateo Casales."

And it was at that name Dru froze, all previous amiability gone. Casales. The name was synonymous with the only other person Dru had known to wear that name. A vicious, nasty person, Zara's friend. Dru had a long memory, and being thirteen hadn't been that long ago.

"Hi." She said, and even to her own ears her voice sounded flat. Had she known Mateo better at that point, she might have known to look for the spark of hurt in his eyes. But she didn't even notice that he registered the sudden change in mood.

Octavia was silent for a moment before, "why hasn't the bell stopped?"

Indeed, the tinkling, light enough to forget if you were immersed in conversation, had not stopped even though Lydia and Mateo were both seated.

"We're still missing one," remarked Dominic.

Octavia's brow creased, "who…" she began, before being cut off by Jael.

"Angus."

The head of the Institute looked up to the roof, "is he coming in tonight?"

It was as if she had addressed the bell, though it kept ringing in answer, as if to say, yes, else I would have stopped.

Dominic sighed, "I hope we're not waiting long, I'm starving."

"You're starving!" Cried Lydia, leaning forward in her seat, "try staking out a strip joint in Cuba Mall, on a roof, in the rain, all day, see how hungry you are then!"

Dru couldn't help herself, "why in the name of the Angel were you staking out a strip joint."

There was a small moment amongst the Shadowhunters of the table. Dru knew that moment well, it happened always when an outsider came into a tightly knit group of Shadowhunters. The decision made in the split second, silently, as to what exactly they should tell the new comer. Once Dru had been on the other end of it, looking at someone and deciding with her siblings exactly what to tell them, though the Blackthorns were secretive and hardly said a word.

Octavia, as head, spoke for them all. "It's an ongoing investigation, we'll bring you up to speed tomorrow, Drusilla, introduce you to the city."

Then, with hawk-eyed perceptiveness, "Mateo will take you on patrol with him tomorrow, you can learn as you go, he has been here for nearly a year."

Clearly, Octavia had picked up on Dru's sudden frigidity. She realised that whilst Octavia was somewhat odd, she was clearly a very competent head, keeping all of her Shadowhunters in line. And whilst she didn't look forward to a patrol with a Casales, she was beginning to see that Octavia was a person well worth her respect.

Lydia however looked put out. "Why can't I patrol? It's too boring to hang around here all day!"

Octavia gave her a level stare, "you can train Dominic, I am going to be busy."

Lydia pulled a face, and Dru nearly laughed. "Why do I have to train the midget?"

Again, Octavia's eyebrows sky rocketed. "Because it's either that or I make the both of you dust the formal lounge, and then do the shopping."

The blond girl shut up pretty fast after that. Jael thought that was funny and started laughing, a Berlin accent coming through pretty strongly.

"Are you here on residence too, Jael?" Dru worked up the courage to ask.

"No," still chuckling, she responded, "I was assigned here by the Consul, I never did residence."

The words left something hanging though, and Dru was unsure as to what that was. Maybe not the whole story, yet.

Then, a new voice sounded from the door way. "C'est un tas de merde" came words in lilting French, almost singsong.

Octavia tutted, not even turning in her seat to acknowledge the voice, "such language, Angus," she admonished.

Dru was already looking in the direction of the stranger, the last stranger of the Wellington Institute, Angus. His eyes too locked with hers as he made his way to a seat next to Lydia. She had never expected someone named Angus to be so good looking. He was most definitely good looking, though very different in looks from the Rosales boys back in LA, and different again from Mateo.

He didn't wait for Octavia to introduce them, "Angus Stagpath," he said, "if you were wondering." He was blunt, straightforward, which was unusual. What was even more unusual was that he kept speaking, "you're Drusilla Blackthorn. You know Diego."

At that Dru started, "how do you know that?"

Angus ignored the question, and Lydia started to talk. "Do we get dinner now?"

The music had stopped, and a door closest to the farthest end of the table had opened. Dru was almost shocked. She hadn't expected these people to have servants, staff. The London institute had had one, ancient cook, but in LA Julian had done all the housework, all the cooking.

Lydia leaned forward in her chair, bracing her elbows on the table and stretching her neck to look down the table to where a girl was pushing a trolley laden with food towards them. "Jessie, pray tell what you have for us tonight!" Her voice was singsong, teasing.

The girl was mundane, Dru could tell that much, only about sixteen, with hair curling about her temples, but mostly tied back and pinned up. She clearly wasn't expected to uphold a dress code, because she wore jeans and a faded sweater, bandana knotted around her head.

"I dunno," Jessie said, "something edible."

Clearly the sarcastic dialogue was something kept up between the two.

"Meet Jessie, Drusilla, mundane extraordinaire," announced Lydia, nearly standing up in the eagerness of her proclamations.

Jessie the serving girl just scoffed, "sit down, Lydia, else you'll get your food last."

She placed a plate of something delicious smelling in front of Dru, and she looked over her shoulder to see her. Jessie was smiling, "newcomers first."

Dru hoped her returning smile counted as thanks enough, Jessie had moved on before she could say a word, and was finished dispensing plates in less than a minute. She stopped just short of Angus, who was looking down at the plate as if puzzled.

She cleared her throat, and stuffed a hand down the neck of her sweater, pulling a wadded up piece of paper from her bra.

"Pray tell me you're not giving me your notice," said Octavia, despairingly and Jessie scoffed.

"Angel, no, this is the receipt, Leif went out tonight, I ordered in. I thought I'd tell you what you were eating."

"I don't need to know," Lydia's tone was always ringing, "I just want to eat it."

"It" said Jessie, "is duck Ragu, and it's said to be divine."

Jael clapped her hands together twice, "you went to Charley Noble, you divine creature!"

Jessie bowed low, and the table clapped, "Thank you, thank you!" she mocked, "I'm here every night you pay me to be!" With a final sweeping bow, the young girl collected her trolley and left the room, kicking the door open as she backed out of the room.

"That was Jessica Munn," Octavia explained. "Leif Brown is our cook, most nights, and Charley Noble is a popular restaurant in town."

Dru simply nodded, she couldn't say anything anyway, her mouth was already full.


End file.
